You Never Know
by not-you-15
Summary: Losing your twin is something that can't really be explained. It's like... There's an endless ache inside your chest, and it never goes away. Every time you look in the mirror, it hurts, like a knife being driven a bit deeper into your heart, and you wonder if there's even a point to living anymore. And almost nobody in the entire world understands./GEORGE'S POV UP!/ COMPLETE!/
1. Chapter 1

**Just a one-shot I wrote while in a rather strange mood a couple days ago. I always wondered what happened to George after the war, but everyone who's anyone (and even a few nobodies) has written a story like this, so I waited until I found what I hope is a unique way to present this.**

**If you are here because I am on your author alert list for Never Leave You, I'm really sorry. I have AWFUL writers block on it right now, so I probably won't update for some time.**

**As always, a shout out to my wonderful BETA LilMissCaprice who got this back to me in under three hours. Love ya girl!**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy!**

This day could not get any worse.

Not only did I get dragged to Diagon Alley by my mother for school supply shopping during the Easter Holidays, no less, but my stupid sister is being simply unbearable. Honestly, if underage magic was legal…

And to top it all off, mum had to bring her idiot of a new boyfriend along so that we could have some "family bonding time". I don't know why she bothers, really. That man still can't tell Hailey and I apart, and it's been six months!

It just really annoys me, especially when he just waves it off as if it doesn't matter. Just because we're twins doesn't mean that we aren't two separate people with two separate identities! There's Hailey (twelve minutes older, with a more pointed nose, a natural affinity for Transfiguration, and an obsession with anything that tastes like peppermint) and there's Kayla (me, with thinner eyebrows, a knack for potions that most Slytherins would envy, and a slightly abnormal love of peanut butter ice cream). These are not interchangeable. Peppermint makes me feel ill, and Hailey could blow up a cauldron just by looking at it the wrong way… Not to mention the personality differences! Hailey is much more calm than me, more level header and logical. I'm fiery, I blow up at the slightest provocation and I don't tend to think things through very well. We are so blatantly different that, I don't understand how he doesn't see it.

Currently, we are sitting in Fortescue's ice cream parlour for a quick snack before we head home. That man is paying, which almost made me refuse to buy anything at all out of spite, but the temptation of the greatest peanut butter ice cream I've ever eaten is too strong to resist.

My sister and mother are deep in conversation about the human transfiguration guide they purchased (with the money I was promised for more powdered unicorn horn and dragon scales, I might add…) and there's no way in hell I'm talking to that man unless I have to, so I tune them out and begin to people watch.

I don't spot anyone interesting for quite a while and I am about to give up and find something else to do when he catches my eye.

A young red-haired an has just taken a seat at the table next to ours. He is wearing the most outrageous lime green suit that I have ever seen, which totally clashes with his hair, and he looks completely at ease leaning back in his chair, casually observing his surroundings.

And yet… something about him appears to be slightly off. At first I think it is the fact that he is missing one of his ears (perhaps it was an injury from the War, which ended three years ago) but then I realise that it's something that runs a little bit deeper than that. It's the way his grin doesn't quite seem to reach his eyes when he places his order with the waitress, the sad little half-smile playing on his lips while he is staring off into space, the wistful expression that appears on his face when he glances our way.

Perhaps he lost his family in the War, the same way that he must have lost his ear?

My ponderings on the flame haired man are rudely interrupted by Hailey's voice.

"…don't you think so, Kayla?"

I blink.

"Sorry, what?"

Hailey puts on a pout. "You never listen to me, Kayla. What were you thinking about that was so much more interesting than Ulrich's Law of Human to Non-Living Transfiguration?"

"I was people watching."

I make it clear in my tone that I do not want to be talked to right now, and Hailey backs down.

My mother, unfortunately, does not understand my silent cues nearly as well as Hailey does, and in her strict, parental tone she says to me, "Are you still angry about the powdered unicorn horn? Honestly Kayla, you should be more considerate of your sister's feelings! This book was very important to her. And, let's be frank here, Transfiguration opens so many more doors for you than potio making ever will, you should really pay more attention to it like you sister does."

That's it.

I cannot take anymore of this 'your interests aren't as important as your sister's, your sister's happiness comes before yours, your sister is a much better daughter than you are' CRAP!

I snap.

"SHUT UP! STOP YOUR GOING ON ABOUT HOW MUCH BETTER TRANSFIGURATION IS THAN POTIONS, BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT! I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR STUPID HAILEY THIS AND HAILEY THAT. WE ARE TWO SEPARATE INDIVIDUALS SO STOP COMPARING US!"

I'm completely out of control now and I know it, as I turn to face that man to finally give him the tongue-lashing he thoroughly deserves. But… it's not nearly as satisfying as I thought it would be.

"AS FOR YOU, YOU REALLY NEED TO LEARN TO TELL US APART. TWO PEOPLE, TWO NAMES, TWO INDIVIDUALS, GOT IT? THEY ARE NOT INTERCHANGABLE AND IT DOES MATTER WHO YOU CALL WHAT NAME. SO STOP YOUR STUPID HAND WAVING AND GET IT RIGHT!"

I turn to Hailey last. She has done nothing wrong, but I feel inexplicable burning hot rage towards her in this moment, so I scream to the world;

"AND YOU, MISS HIGH-AND-MIGHTY! YOU'RE NO BETTER THAN ME!" I falter before yelling out, "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU AND I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!"

I stand there for a moment (when had I stood up again?) and then I run.

I run and I don't stop until I stand behind the apothecary. I then slide to the ground, rest my head on my knees and sob.

What feels like an eternity later, I hear a voice above me.

"Are you alright?"

I look up to see the red headed man from the shop staring down at me. His startling blue eyes are full of concern, a tiny bit of amusement, an undercurrent of mischief, and underneath all that, a layer of pain and sadness so intense that it takes my breath away.

"Are you alright?" he asks again, and I nod my head slightly.

For a brief time silence falls, and he slides to the ground next to me.

"I couldn't help but overhear your- ah- dispute back at Fortescues…"

I groan and drop my head back to my knees. I was seriously beginning to regret my loss of control back there.

He chuckles softly at my obvious embarrassment and continues to speak as if there has been no interruption.

"And, well, I was wondering if you really meant what you said."

"Which part?" I moan into my knees, hoping to the Good Lord above that he doesn't intend to lecture me on my lack of respect towards my elders.

"The bit where you said you hated your sister."

"Yes, I did."

"Why?"

I feel another stirring of anger deep in my stomach as I remember why those words ever left my mouth. Stupid Hailey… Why did everyone seem to think that she was better then me? She was always the mature one, the one good student, who got better grades and, according to my mother, was the only one who truly belonged in Ravenclaw House. It makes me sick. She has absolutely nothing that I don't, we're bloody identical for God's sake, so why did everyone seem to think she was better than me?

And, on top of that, I'm tiered of being mistaken for her, tiered of being called by her name. There's Kayla and there's Hailey. We are two separate people. Kayla, and Hailey. Not HaileyandKayla. Two people, two names, two identities. Just because we're twins doesn't mean that we're the same. Why does everyone find that so difficult to grasp?

But how would this stranger know all this? He wouldn't, and I don't feel like explaining, so instead I say, "You wouldn't understand."

He raises his eyebrows. "Try me."

I snort. "Unless you're a twin, there's no way that you would get it."

He sighs. "I suppose I can't help you then, because I'm not a twin."

"Not anymore…" he adds, so quietly that I barely hear it.

My curiosity getting the better of me, I ask, "What do you mean by that?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. Forget about it. Doesn't matter."

And again there is silence.

I ponder his words. What could he mean, "not anymore"? Had me been disowned? Are he and his brother estranged? Is he actually a fraternal twin (which is jyst a whole different ball game)?

Again he breaks the silence with a question.

"What would you fell if your sister died tomorrow, and you had never gotten the chance to apologize to her?"

The question catches me off guard and I have to take a couple minutes to think about it before I can reply.

"I suppose I would be sad…? Maybe a little relieved because I could finally be an individual. Guilty, probably, because I told her I hated her… even if it is true…"

He shakes his head.

"You don't hate her. Not really. I think that you wouldn't know how to live without her. There would be an endless ache inside your chest, and it would never go away. every time you looked in the mirror, it would hurt, like a knife being driven just a little bit deeper into your heart, and you would wonder if there is even a point to living anymore. And almost nobody in the entire world would understand."

The pain has returned in his eyes, stronger than before, more obvious. I dare not interrupt, though I do wonder 'What the hell does he know?'

"Then comes the acceptance, which is absolutely horrible, because you begin to get used to living without them next to you. You stop pausing in the middle of sentences waiting for them to speak, stop looking to your left constantly to see if they're there, stop waiting for them to say their name first when you introduce yourself to someone new. And you feel really, truly awful for it, because it's almost like you're betraying them by moving on with your life."

We are no longer talking about if I hypothetically lost Hailey I realise. The stranger seems to be speaking from experience, and once again I wonder what in the world has happened to him.

He looks at me, a horrible emptiness filling his bright blue eyes and dulling them significantly. I feel a flash of pity deep in my chest- this is a very broken man.

"Never take what you have for granted, because you never know when it might be stolen away from you."

All at once, I feel the pity drain from my body to be replaced with white hot rage. How dare he lecture me? He doesn't even know me!

"How the hell would you know?" I spit, anger evident in my voice, as I stand, fists clenched at my sides, "How in the world would you know what it's like?"

He stands next to me and asks, "May I show you something?"

Once again his words have caught me off guard and I nod mutely before I really get a chance to think about it.

"Follow me." he says and that's when I finally realise what it is I have gotten into.

My imagination goes in to overdrive, as scenario after horrible scenario run through my head.

We stop in from of "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes", the biggest joke shop in all of Diagon Alley, and maybe even all of Britain, and I wonder what on earth is going on.

The red-head walks up to the door and reaches to open it when I see the sign. "Closed for Lunch," it says.

"Wait!" I cry out, and he turns to me, a puzzled expression on his face.

"You can't go in there, it's closed right now!"

He smirks. "I can go in whenever I want."

"No, you can't, that's against the law!"

"I'm telling you, I can… I own this shop."

And with that he waltzes through the door, leaving me shell-shocked behind him.

I shake myself out of my daze and follow him through the door.

It is quite strange to see this shop so empty and quiet' normally it is bursting with noise and chaos and people and various flying objects and laughter.

I follow the mop of red hair to the back of the store where he stops I front of a rather boring wooden door. He opens it and I gasp.

The interior of the decent sized room is like a giant memorial. Photographs, jumpers, all with large yellow F's on the front, a broomstick with a length of chain hanging from it, and what look to be original prototypes of some of the various products are not even half of what I see. On the far wall there is a plaque that reads, "In Loving Memory of Fred Gideon Weasley."

"Take a look around," the man says to me, "you're one of the very few people to ever have seen this place."

So, I do.

I start with the photographs pined up on the left wall. In all of them, there are two red headed boys, identical in every way, wearing large mischievous grins. Sometimes, they are joined by other red headed people, I count nine at the most in one photograph, and there are a fair few including a dark skinned boy wearing his hair in dreadlocks. A Quidditch team waves up at me from a frame, and I notice the colour of their robes- red and gold. Gryffindor House, then.

I move onto a pile of notes on a table by the pictures. They are all written in the same casual yet somehow neat scrawl. Their contents vary from potion instructions (which I eagerly drink up) to little reminders about just about everything;

George,

Don't forget, we need more milk!

-Fred

George,

Had to run out for more lacewing flies.

Be back soon,

Fred

George,

Mum's coming over for dinner tonight.

Be prepared…

-Fred

Forge,

I am holding your green jumper hostage until you return my purple socks.

-Gred

I set aside the notes and look at the newspaper articles piled next to them. Titles like "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes a Great Success", "War Heroes; Remembering Fred Weasley", "Unsung Heroes, Untold Stories: The Weasley Twin's Escape from Hogwarts" and "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to Re-open After Six Month Closure" greet my eyes. I do not bother to actually read any of them, and instead focus on the products piled next to them.

They are all fairly old, and I dare not touch any of them, as you can never really tell what a Weasley product is going to do.

I skip over the jumpers, pausing only to observe that they are all identical save for the size, and focus on the final object in the room, aside from the broom, which really isn't that all interesting…

It is really quite random; an old leather boot. Then, I notice the slight blue-ish glow surrounding it, and I realise that it is a port key.

"Where does the port key go?" I find myself asking, before I can stop the words from leaving my mouth.

"Would you like me to show you?" the man, George I'm assuming, asks. At my look of confusion he adds, "I still have trouble saying it, even though it's been three years."

I need to stop and think for a minute because I feel like I am missing something major here. Why is he showing me all of this?

As though my body is on auto-pilot, I nod and walk forward to the boot. We both take hold of the port key, and I feel the familiar pull behind my navel.

A couple of minutes later, we are standing on a grassy hillside, underneath a twisted willow tree. There is a rather lopsided, tall house in the distance, and a gravestone in front of me, low to the ground.

Fred Gideon Weasley

April 1st, 1978- June 21st 1997

Beloved brother, son and friend

Scratched in below it are two words. They must be symbolic, but I have no idea what they mean.

Mischief Managed

As I stare at the tombstone, all of the pieces suddenly click into place in my head.

"_I'm not a twin. Not anymore."_

"_Never take what you have for granted, because you never know when it might be stolen away from you…"_

_In all of them there are two red haired boys, identical in every way…_

…_The Weasley Twin's Escape from Hogwarts…_

_In loving memory of Fred Gideon Weasley…_

Oh my God.

I never even considered the possibility that he might have been a twin, that he might understand what I was going through. And I certainly never considered the possibility that his brother might have been dead… the though never even crossed my mind. It's just inconceivable!

So… Those things he was telling me… He knew. He understood them all. He would understand better than anybody in the world what it's like, and I… Oh my God.

As if sensing that I have worked everything out in my head, George begins to speak in a quiet, detached manner that breaks my heart more than any amount of tears ever could.

"He died in the Battle of Hogwarts, shortly before Harry defeated Lord Voldemort. Ron- my younger brother- told me about what happened. Apparently, Rockwood or someone blew up the wall near where they were standing. Everybody went flying, and when the dust cleared, there he was."

He paused to draw in a shuddering breath, regaining control of his emotions before continuing.

"I wasn't there when it happened. There have only been two times where we've been separated for more than a couple of hours at once, and both times, something bad has happened. The first time, Snape hexed off my ear," he gestures to the hole that I know is hidden under that artfully styled hair, "and the second time Fred… died." He winces as he says the word.

"For a long while after that, I couldn't even function without him there. I'm younger, see, so I had never lived in a world without him." A bitter laugh. "After I got out of the endless grief stage, I still did things the way I used to. I would stop part way through a sentence, expecting him to interject with words that would never come."

He looks away from the grave for the first time since we arrived, and I see that his eyes are brimming with unshed tears. Still, his voice barely wavers as he continues to speak.

"For my entire life it had been Fred and George. I wasn't sure- hell, I'm still not sure- how to just be George."

I stare at him, and feel the guilt crash over me in waves for the first time since this entire thing started. There were still a few rogue Death Eaters out there even now… how did I know that the last words I ever said to Hailey weren't going to be "I hate you"?

I had taken for granted the fact that I had always had someone to talk to, and I had figured that I always would. After all, what's one twin without the other? A half being, that's what.

Yet now, as I stare at George standing over his brother's grave, tears flowing freely ad shamelessly from his eyes, I realise that Hailey may not always be there by my side.

Life is too short, too precious, too fragile to waste time on hateful words, towards the ones you love especially. I realise that now. Never say something that you may end up regretting because, if every moment could be your last, it is never a certainty that you will see that person again to set things right.

I give George a couple more minutes to cry, out of newfound respect for him and all that he has taught me before I say, "I need to get back to Hailey."

George looks up and smiles, and this time it reaches his eyes.

He holds out his arm and says, "I'll Apparate us back, it'll be quicker," by way of explanation. I take hold of his arm and an instant of pressure later, we are back behind the Apothecary.

I walk out, blinking, into the sunlight and almost immediately spot Hailey calling for me, over by Eyelops Owl Emporium. I call her name and run to her, tackling her in a hug.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

I feel my eyes welling up with tears, and I tighten my grip around Hailey's slender frame.

"I love you, Hailey."

"I-umm… Love you too, Kayla… What brought this on?"

Before I can answer, George walks up to us and says, "Everything alright, Kayla?"

Hailey looks at him cautiously, but I smile and nod. She gives me a look that says 'Who is this guy?' and I return it with one that says 'I'll tell you later.'

George has that wistful on his face again, and he looks so sad that I want nothing more than to hug him in that moment.

So, I do.

I catch him off guard, but after a moment he relaxes and wraps his arms around me.

"Thank you." I say to him as I pull away, "For everything."

He smiles. "Anytime. Oh, and Kayla?"

I turn around to face him again. He is holding out a piece of paper. As I take it, I realise that is is a photograph of him and Fred standing outside of their shop. I turn it over and read what it says on the back:

Opening Day at WWW

I solemnly swear that I am

up to no good!

What fitting words for the owners of a joke shop I think before looking back up at George to see him staring at me. For a moment, we just look at each other.

"Never forget." he says, still staring at me with solemn blue eyes, and I nod. He shoots me one last smile, turns and walks away.

"Who was that?" Hailey asks me.

"A friend." I reply. Deciding that she, at least, deserves a little bit better explanation I add. "Someone who understands."

To underline that point, I hold out the photograph for her to see. We lock eyes, and I can see that she doesn't really understand, but she seems to sense that this is something important.

Our moment is ruined by our mother calling, and rapid footsteps coming towards us.

"Kayla! Where have you been? We spent ages looking for you! Honestly, you should really try to consider the consequences before you pull stunts like that!"

I feel a surge of anger, but Georges words are still in the forefront of my mind, and I manage to keep calm.

"Sorry, mum," I say, as I inconspicuously slide the photograph into the pocket of my robes, "it won't happen again."

Both my mother and my sister look at me in surprise- I have never backed down from a fight so quickly, or so calmly before- and I smile. There is a flash of understanding in Hailey's eyes, and I wink at her.

I'm not the same person who came to the Alley this morning. Though I knew him for less than two hours, George Weasley taught me one of the most important and valuable lessons I have ever learned.

Love the best that you can, while you still can, and ever take anything for granted.

Because you never know when everything might end.

**I'm not sure if I like how I ended this or not... Meh. Anyways, loved it? Hated it? Leave me a review, kay? I don't bite... often. ;P**

**~JM~**


	2. Chapter 2

**I told myself I wouldn't write this. I did. But, it wouldn't leave me alone... so, here it is. George's point of view. It's not nearly as good as the first chapter, but meh. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Harry Potter, or the lyrics to the song used later on in the story. On that note, it's not the greatest song, but I think it fits fairly well...**

George watched the two girls and their mother from the shadows behind Flourish and Blotts. He felt a bit like some sort of stalker for doing so, but there was just such a similarity between the two girls and the way that he and Fred used to be.

When Kayla had freaked out at the restaurant, George had been reminded of his brother's temper. Fred had inherited it from their mother, but he also had their father's patience; in other words, it took a lot to wind him up, but when he finally did lose his temper, it wasn't pretty.

To be completely honest, George hadn't been listening to the beginning of her rant, he had only really tuned in when she began screaming at the man seated next to her mother about two identities or something.

Then she had yelled, "I hate you and I wish you were dead!" at her sister, and George became lost in the memory of the only time that Fred's wrath had been directed towards him.

o0O0o

"_George," Fred called, "have you seen my copy of Quidditch through the Ages? I can't find it anywhere…"_

_As he walked into our room, I attempted to hide the fact that I had been working on our Skiving Snackboxes without him, and cutting my hand in the process. Fred chose that moment to enter the room._

"_What are you doing?" he asked me, and I tried to act as casual as possible._

"_Nothing."_

_His eyes narrowed. "You never could lie to me, George. Now, what have you been up to?"_

_By this point, I had decided that telling him the truth was probably the best option. It would probably help with his temper as well—he hated it when people lied to him._

"_I think I found the solution to our boil problem—we need to add some Murtlap essence before the newt's blood. I was just going to write it down before I forgot, but then I remembered that Murtlap goes funny if you let it sit for too long, so I started to work on the prototype."_

_Fred's eyes flashed with hurt, betrayal almost, then with anger._

"_Whatever happened to doing everything together, eh? You thought you would just go ahead without me, is that it?_

"_I'm sorry. I didn't know where you were-"_

"_So you're telling me that it didn't occur to you to go and look for me before you started?"_

_He was up in my face by this point, and I was beginning to become nervous and uncomfortable._

"_Fred—"_

"_Be quiet!" He was absolutely livid by that point, and it was scaring me. I had seen him this angry before of course, but not at me. Never at me._

_He tackled me onto the bed, and pinned me down, holding my hands above my head. An intense pain began to build in the palm of my left hand, and I remembered near a jolt that I had cut it earlier._

_Fred was saying something, but I was no longer able to listen to him through the haze of pain, as I tried to get my hand out of his grip, which only resulted in him clamping down harder. My eyes began to water from the pain, and I let out an involuntary whimper. _

_Fred stopped mid-sentence when he heard that small sound, and took a moment to take in the fact that I was crying._

"_George? What's wrong?" he asked, worried. His mood had changed so quickly, it was a little disorienting._

"_My hand," I managed to say, "I cut it earlier. You were pressing on it."_

_He looked horrified, but I didn't really know why—it was really not that bad, compared to some injuries we'd had in the past._

_It was slightly swollen around the gash, and red, but the bleeding had mostly stopped by that point._

_I decided to voice my question. _

"_Why are you so worried? It's really not that bad…"_

_He looked at me with troubled eyes. _

"_But I made it worse, I hurt you."_

_And before I figured out exactly what was going on, he had pulled me in to an embrace. That in itself was not all that strange—we had always liked to be touched, especially when we were hurt of scared. But, the reason behind this impromptu hug was beyond me…_

_He answered my question before I even asked it._

"_I'm sorry for blowing up at you, and hurting your hand. That was out of line. It's just… it's been a rough day."_

o0O0o

George remembered how it had always shocked him, how quickly his brother's moods could swing from one extreme to the other.

He also remembered the horrible, horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach when he saw the look of undiluted rage on Fred's face. He had barely been able to breath. So, to hear your twin say that they hated you… well, George was thankful it had never happened to him.

It was in that moment that he had decided to go look for Kayla. The look of pain on Hailey's face was so intense, that George could barely even imagine how much she must have been hurting.

Also, he was curious. One of the boys back at Hogwarts had told them that they were closer that most twins, even, and George wondered if it was even possible to hate one's twin.

Kayla had said that she meant it when he had asked, but George could see that she was just angry. It had also registered to him that she probably hadn't ever thought about the fact that she didn't really mean those words, and that she would probably regret having said them if she realised the true fragility of human life.

(It reminded him of a muggle rock song that he and Fred had heard once, with their father… "Don't Know What You Got 'Till It's Gone" or something like that…)

So, he asked her.

"How would you feel if your sister died tomorrow, and you never got the chance to apologize for what you said?"

Kayla turned out to be a very stubborn person though, so he had tried to put it in to perspective for her. After all, he would know better than anyone how it felt to live without his other half. It may have sounded cliché, but it was true.

He had gotten a bit carried away trying to explain it, and had promptly set himself back on track once he realised.

George had admired, in a way, the fact that Kayla stayed true to what she had said, no matter how he had tried to convince her otherwise. There had been a time when he would have done the same thing her, and blown up in the face of whoever was trying to help him, but he had (dare he say it) matured since then.

_Perhaps she's more of a visual learner… _George had mused to himself. So, he had made kind of a brash decision and shown her Fred's memorial.

He had created it as a place where he could go to escape the world, and remember his brother in peace. The port-key was a later addition, as he had gotten tired of his mother's smothering concern whenever he Floo-ed to the Burrow to visit Fred's grave.

(There were anti-apparition wards around it. You had to walk or take a port-key to get in, but you could apparate out if you wanted to… it was weird. George didn't quite get it.)

Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly down, he would bury his face in one of the Christmas jumpers, and it would be almost like Fred was there with him again. He always felt worse when he returned to reality again, but for those few, blissful moments, the pain was gone, and Fred's voice was saying, "Hey, Georgie. What're you crying for? I'm right here!"

When Kayla had asked where the port-key went, George had asked to show her for two reasons; the first was because he still didn't think she quite understood what he was trying to show her, and the second was what he had told her. He still had trouble saying it, three years later.

Telling her Fred's story had been a split-second decision, to make sure the point had really been driven home. It had been kind of embarrassing, to end up bawling his eyes out in front of someone half his age, but if it meant that she would learn to appreciate what she had, then…

When she said that she needed to go back, George had nearly cheered. However, he had somehow managed to hold himself back. He had been so very happy for her.

But when he saw her with her sister, that happiness had immediately evaporated and been replaced with jealousy, as well as longing twice as strong.

The photograph was also a split second decision—George seemed to be making quite a few of those today. He had found it that morning in the bottom of a drawer, and had been meaning to put it in the memorial later. He had another copy somewhere, they always made two copies of their photographs, so he had given it to Kayla, so that she would never forget.

After "walking away", he had hidden in the shadows and watched as Kayla had shown the picture to her sister, hidden it from her mother, and walked away, side by side with Hailey, their shoulders touching.

George sighed, and turned his back on the two vanishing silhouettes. He had been away from the shop for long enough. Since it was a Wednesday, there wasn't really that much business, nothing he couldn't handle on his own.

As he reset the displays to re-open, he let his mind wander across the day.

Everything he had said to Kayla was completely true, but there were a couple of things he hadn't told her. Like the fact that he had tried to kill himself five times in the first two months after Fred died, or that he had barely been able to sleep for three weeks without taking a potion, because of the nightmares that kept looping over and over inside of his skull. He hadn't told her that he had nearly murdered his older brother for trying to help him out of his misery, or that he had destroyed every mirror in their flat because it had felt like a knife twisting a little deeper into his heart every time he saw his reflection, so like his brother's but not quite the same.

And he definitely hadn't told her that he hadn't cried over Fred in two years.

Fred wouldn't have wanted him to waste his life away in tears, so he didn't. He smiled, he laughed, he played jokes, even though he was dying on the inside, even though he wanted to cry, to scream, to lose control and let go of his sanity and wallow in his misery forevermore. Because his smile felt unnatural, his laugh fake and forced, and his jokes not nearly as satisfying as before—without Fred by his side.

It was actually muggle music that Hermione had given his father as a Christmas gift that got him through. Quite genius really, the things those muggles wrote about. Things like sadness, heartbreak, loss and rebellion that were simply unheard of in Wizarding music. There were several sets of lyrics that he felt reflected his situation fairly well, but one of the best came from the song "Incomplete" by the Backstreet Boys*****:

Empty spaces fill me up with holes

Distant faces with no place let to go

Without you, within me

I can't find no rest

Where I'm going, is anybody's guess

It wasn't the sort of music he normally listened to, but those particular lyrics, as well as a couple of other lines in the song, fitted his situation quite nicely.

The song that had saved his life, however, was by Freddie Mercury, lead singer for the band Queen. "Don't Try Suicide", it was called.

He had finished resetting the shop now, and was just turning over the sign when the fireplace flared green, and out stepped Bill

George was surprised—Bill rarely came to visit him in the shop, busy as he was with work and his family. Mostly they just saw each other once a month on Sundays, when everyone who could make it went for a family dinner at the Burrow.

"Hello, Bill. What brings you here?"

"It's nice to see you too, George. Not going to ask me how I'm doing, how the kids are? Friendly, George, really friendly."

George gave a shrug, a grin and a wink. "I'm just reopening shop after lunch, so it'll probably get busy pretty soon. I don't have time for pleasantries, not when there are sweets to be sold and children to corrupt!"

Bill laughed and said, "Straight to business then. Mum wants everyone over tonight for dinner. Says it's important."

"Probably just wants everyone to get together one last time before Charlie heads back to Romania." George replied with a snort, even though he had a sneaking suspicion that there was another reason behind this impromptu family gathering—he had been paying attention to the calendar, he knew what day it was.

Laughing, Bill replied, "You're probably right, lord knows we'll all listen to her anyways though, come hell or high water."

Nobody had entered the shop yet, which wasn't too unusual for a Wednesday. The fact that the Cannons were playing Puddlemere today probably had something to do with it, too…

Bill startled George out of his musings with his next statement.

"I saw you at the grave today, with a girl. You been seeing someone and not told any of us, George? What's her name? She doesn't even look old enough to be out of Hogwarts! Are you going to introduce us anytime soon?"

George's good mood evaporated immediately as he thought of Hailey and Kayla, living life together, and Fred, lying six feet under a slab of stone, leaving him alone in a cold, dark world, to live out their dream without his other half. He also felt irrationally angry at Bill for bringing it up, even though his brother had done nothing wrong; he didn't know what had happened there today.

He decided to answer Bill's questions completely honestly, because he really, desperately wanted to make his brother squirm right now.

"I don't think any of you will be meeting her any time soon." George paused for a moment to allow Bill to object before continuing, "But to answer your other questions, her name is Kayla, and she doesn't look old enough to be out of Hogwarts because she isn't."

Bill's eyes went wide, and George smirked internally. This was just too funny…

"Oh, and by the way, I'm not seeing her. I was just trying to teach her a life lesson."

"And what would that be?"

Some of George's good mood evaporated, but the look on Bill's face was still too hilariously fresh in his mind for it to disappear completely.

"Never take what you have for granted, and don't say things you'll end up regretting, because life is too short to be wasted on hateful words.

"And… showing her you brother's grave taught her this because…?"

"She was a twin, Bill. She was a twin and she didn't even seem to care that her words were hurting her sister. I wanted to show her that nothing is guaranteed, and that she shouldn't take her relationship with her sister for granted, so that she didn't have to learn that the same way I did…"

And suddenly, it wasn't funny anymore, and George heard himself say, "Man the shop for a minute." as he practically ran to the wooden door to the back of the shop and flung it open. He collapsed to the ground, grabbing the nearest jumper and pressing it to his face, closing his eyes, and inhaling deeply. The familiar scent flooded his senses, and his body seemed overly sensitive. He grabbed another, larger jumper and slung it around his shoulders, the smell of gunpowder, parchment and cinnamon that belonged to his fallen brother now surrounding him completely. The wool of the jumper was soft against his body, and he clutched it tighter around himself. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine that it was Fred's arms holding him, Fred's voice whispering in his ear, "I'm here, Georgie. Please don't cry."

George barely registered the sound of the door swinging open, so lost was he in his misery. It wasn't until he heard Bill's voice call his name that he came back to reality.

"George?"

"I thought I told you to man the shop?" George ground out, hostility clearly visible in his hunched posture.

"I set up a caterwauling charm that'll activate when someone comes in. What is this, George?"

"A memorial. I come here sometimes when the pain is too much to handle."

"I thought you had moved past this now."

"You never really get over a loss like this one."

"It's been three years, George. Isn't it about time to move on with your life?"

"I'm trying Bill. I really am. It's just… Never mind. You wouldn't understand."

"Then make me understand, dammit!" Bill yelled, slamming his fist into the nearest wall.

George was a little shocked at his brother's loss of control, but he didn't say anything about it, and instead tried to find a way to explain the pain of his loss to someone who had never been there.

"Imagine losing Charlie, Fleur, your best friend, and half of your identity, all at the same time. Then you'll come close to understanding what it's like to lose a twin."

"Half my identity? Why?"

"Because you're the only one who knows what you're thinking. Fred and I… we were on the same wavelength. We always knew what the other was thinking, just by looking at one another."

Bill stared at him, and George knew that he still didn't get it. He also knew that since Bill didn't get it, he could never understand that George could never go back to the way he was before Fred died, because he was no longer complete. He would never be the same George as before the war, because there was a hole that could never be filled deep within his soul, where his complete connection and total understanding of his brother had lain. It was a constant ache, like a piece of his being had been ripped out, never to be replaced again. Bill and everyone else in his family would never be able to understand this, because they had never been twins.

It was herein that he found his dilemma; how could he have explained to his family that which they would never be able to understand? He was trying his very best to act the way he always had, but it was so much harder now.

George sighed and stood up. "Come on. Let's get back to the shop."

Explaining was pointless, George decided, and quite the waste of breath. Nobody would ever understand, so why even bother trying anymore? He would live his life the best he could, without trying to please his family with every step he took. He would learn, slowly but surely, to be his own person, and if they didn't like it, then it sucked to be them.

The rest of the day in the shop passed quickly, and the evening found George apparating to the Burrow for dinner. Before he walked through the door of his childhood home, brimming with bittersweet memories of times gone by a people long dead, he looked towards Fred's hill, with the willow tree shadowing his brother's grave, it's long tendril-like leaves blowing and swaying softly in the gentle breeze.

"Happy Birthday, Fred."

And he walked through the door.

***I'm sorry, but can't you just picture Mr. Weasley listening to The Backstreet Boys like it's the coolest thing in the world?**

**Also, some of the facts don't line up from this chapter to the other... I fixed that, if you go back to the first chapter and check again, so don't review telling me that it's wrong. Thanks. Other than that, review to your hearts content my dearies!**


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